


Pushing Through

by AnaliseGrey



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb is very good at putting the needs of the many above himself, Fever, Ficlet, Gen, Running Hot, Sick Character, Sickfic, that's not always a good thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:07:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22179817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: No rest for the weary, or sick.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 172





	Pushing Through

**Author's Note:**

> I had completely forgotten I'd written this, and having searched my published works twice, determined I never actually posted it. Whoops?

It was difficult to focus.

He could feel the fever burning behind his eyelids each time he blinked, every time harder and harder to get them to open again. It was in the catch of his joints, the way they _ached_ , even when he held himself carefully still, the way his skin felt too tight, stretched over the smoldering framework beneath.

He should rest, Caleb thought, take a break, give himself time to recover.

But there wasn't time; they were on a deadline, a very _tight_ deadline, and he was the only one capable of this translation. Lives rested on this, _so many_ lives, and he refused to be responsible for more loss of life, not when it was perfectly within his ability to prevent it. And so he kept on well into the night, refusing to stop even to eat, though he didn't think his stomach would have tolerated more than the tea he kept cautiously sipping.

He blinked down at the pages, the words blurring, and he set his pen down momentarily to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes until bright spots flared in the darkness under his hands. He sighed, rubbing his palms over his face before reaching once again for his pen. He was close, he knew, to completing the translation. He would hand it off to Beau and Fjord, and then he could rest, lay down and sleep until he was needed again. He felt he could sleep for days and still be weighed down with fatigue, mired and pulled down by the weight of exhaustion. _Soon_ , he told himself as the words swam and fuzzed on the page. Soon he'd be done.

Another hour went by and after a last check of something he set the pen down gently and resealed his mundane ink well. With a shaking hand he pulled out his length of copper wire and cupped his hands around it.

"Beauregard, if you could please come to my room, I have finished the translation for you."

There was a gruff response, and a few moments later the door to the room swung open after a cursory knock.

He hadn't realized his eyes had shut until a hand landed on his shoulder and he startled with a hiss. His body seemed to twinge as a whole, one massive burning misery.

"Whoa, hey-" _Beau_ , his brain sluggishly supplied. He shouldn't have been surprised, he'd called for her himself not a moment ago. "You okay? No offense, but you kind of look like shit."

" _Ja_ , I am-" At a sharp look from Beau, he sighed, slumping over the desk. "I will survive. Here." He picked up the sheaf of translations and tapped them into a neat pile before holding them out to her. He was very careful not to let his hand shake.

Beau eyed him for another drawn out moment before taking the papers, folding them and tucking them away somewhere.

"Fjord and I are headed out. We should be a few hours, minimum. Get some rest."

Her words fell somewhere between an imperative and a request, and his thoughts were too muddled to sort out whether he should be upset or touched by her concern. He opted for touched, too tired and worn to gather the energy for fabricated ire. 

"I- _ja_ , I will. Be careful?"

She grinned, throwing out a messy salute. "Of course! Aren't we always?"

They both knew the answer to that; neither commented. 

She turned on her heel and left, the door closing with a gentle click behind her. Caleb took another moment to gather himself to stand. He managed it even as his head spun, and decided undressing was too much effort. He made it to his bed, falling to it with a sigh of relief. He still hurt, and knew he'd have to deal with the fever eventually, but that was a problem for later. In the meantime, he managed to kick his boots off and crawl under his blankets, wrapping himself up before falling into uneasy restless sleep.


End file.
